ESTRANGER

Browser lacks capabilities required to play.

Upgrade or switch to another browser.

Loading…

<h3 style="margin-bottom: 0.2em;">P R O L O G U E:</h3> <h1 style="margin-top: 0.2em; margin-bottom: 0.4em;">MURMURATION</h1> <p style="margin-top: 0;">I can’t dream.</p> For as long as I can remember, sleep didn’t mean relaxing. It was a patrol– or better yet, a void. And when I didn’t patrol, there was nothing to dream of. Until now. Rubber screams against the pavement. It’s not just loud–it’s wrong. Like lungs about to deflate. That’s what wakes me. That sound. That reminder. What we're running from, and what that means for us. It’s been a year since we first abandoned it all and targets were placed on our heads. Stopping at dingy motels and inconspicuous diners, always searching for a new place to “lay low.” I still don’t know what that looks like. Safety? Invisibility? [[Death?]]

Just as I linger on that last thought, the car jerks around another curve, tires screeching like they’re trying to peel away from the road entirely. Behind us, another engine growls louder. Closer. Mom’s hands grip her handgun until her knuckles turn a ghastly pale hue. She spits a curse under her breath–one of many–before turning off the safety. Dad frantically says something about a shortcut, the map laid out on his lap, our only guide in this trek. And there I am. Huddled low in the backseat. The carry on that’s brought nothing but trouble. The Lab found us. <p class="flicker">But we were never lost.</p> [[Stay down.]] [[Peek out the window.]] [[Ask where we’re going.]]

I do what I do best. Nothing. I barricade myself in my body, knees to my chest and head ducked down. I shut my eyes tight, praying that darkness might make me forget it all. Instead, all I see is the very people we’re trying to run from. Men and women alike, donned in those cotton blazers and wearing their stone-like expressions. Every bit of them is meticulously crafted to fit what their operations need. A pliant, obedient soldier, breeding more in the process. My stomach starts to churn, feeling my attempts to breathe bounce back into my nose. If I focus hard enough, I can pretend I’m not here. The car isn’t shaking. The lights behind us aren’t closing in. I’m forced back into reality when the light swallows us. [[Next.]]

Hiding never did us any good, so what will it do now? Craning my head around, my eyes are assaulted by the bright lights from the cars behind us. I wince, feel my eyes burn, but fight the urge to look away. I need to see. A part of me wishes it had been blinding–erase what I saw next: A series of sleek black SUVs, following after us like rabid wolves. Encased in their soulless metal. The headlights cut through the trees and greenery, shaping long, looming shadows that reach toward us. And one of these SUVs is close–too close–it’s grill nearly kissing our bumper. Each inch it moves closer than it should is another I’m bracing for impact. The sound of a loud honk bursts my ears, pulling me out of my trance. I dive for the cushions of the car seat. Instinctively. Stupidly. It all ends the same. The way I’d been anticipating for a year. [[Next.]]

My eyes flicker between Mom and Dad. Both panicked, bristled. Animals spinning in circles, searching for the tail they’ve already bitten off. “Where are we going?” My voice is hoarse and barely audible over the engine. I watch Mom and Dad reconstruct themselves, Dad pasting a smile on his face that threatens to split it apart. “Somewhere they can’t follow.” He glances in the mirror. “Trust me.” Usually, I would. They’ve always been trustworthy, in their own way. To me. But, then again, I know they have as much control over this as I do. “But where?” I ask again, my tone sounding sharper than I intended. Maybe it’s within my right to be on edge. There’s a pause when he hears the crack in my voice, one he fills by pointing somewhere on the map. Someplace North, I think. “A place called Granite Falls. Middle of nowhere, population: nothing, and zero cell phone towers. Perfect for disappearing.” Mom scoffs quietly, but doesn’t argue. We all want to disappear. Leave behind the world we already burned down. But we made our mess, now we’ll sleep in it. That much was clear as the lights from behind swallowed us whole. [[Next.]]

In times like these, there’s a trick mom taught me. I don’t remember where we were. Not much besides the dinginess of it all and the rain fighting to burst inside. I was burrowed someplace cramped with my attempts at quiet sobs, my mind too loud with my body paying the price. When those moments happened, I shoved away whoever thought to hold me. It felt like pity. Cooing at a wounded animal. Yet at that moment, it was all I wanted. Mom, bless her heart, delivered. Her arms wrapped around me, stiff at my side with my cheek pressed against her shoulder. “Listen, please.” She began, voice softer. A plea. “There’s going to be more days like this, Kid. The sky’s going to scream, the wind's gonna howl, and we can’t do anything about it.” Suck it up, I thought. That’s all she was telling me. But as she continued, I realized she meant something more. Something much more human than storms. “When those days come, you need your armor. Something they can’t use against you.” So now, when things get too loud–inside or out–I remember her words. I build the armor, and I start [[small.]]

<h3>WHAT IS MY NAME?</h3> <div id="nameInput"> <<textbox "_name" "" autofocus>> <<button "Confirm">> <<set $name = _name.trim()>> <<if $name == "">> <<replace "#reaction">> <p>Please enter a valid name.</p> <</replace>> <<elseif $name.toLowerCase() == "rowan">> <<run playMorseCode("DONT MAKE ME REMEMBER")>> <<replace "#reaction">> <p>Try again!</p> <</replace>> <<replace "#nameInput">> <<textbox "_name" "" autofocus>> <<button "Confirm">> <<set $name = _name.trim()>> <<goto "NameInput">> <</button>> <</replace>> <<else>> <<replace "#reaction">> <p>$name</p> <p style="margin-top: 0;">It'll [[do|Next]], for now.</p> <</replace>> <</if>> <</button>> </div> <div id="reaction"></div>

<h3>HOW DO I WANT PEOPLE TO REFER TO ME?</h3> <<button "1. She/Her">> <<set $heshe = "she">> <<set $himher = "her">> <<set $hisher = "her">> <<set $hishers = "hers">> <<set $HeShe = "She">> <<set $himself = "herself">> <<run Engine.play("Next Passage!")>> <</button>> <<button "2. He/Him">> <<set $heshe = "he">> <<set $himher = "him">> <<set $hisher = "his">> <<set $hishers = "his">> <<set $HeShe = "He">> <<set $himself = "himself">> <<run Engine.play("Next Passage!")>> <</button>> <<button "3. They/Them">> <<set $heshe = "they">> <<set $himher = "them">> <<set $hisher = "their">> <<set $hishers = "theirs">> <<set $HeShe = "They">> <<set $himself = "themself">> <<set $pronouns_plural = true>> <<run Engine.play("Next Passage!")>> <</button>>

The SUV behind us rams into the end of our car, thrusting all of us forward. The least fortunate of us is Dad, whose glasses fly off his face and onto the dashboard. He palms for them in a frenzy, but his blurry sight is the least of his concerns. “Is everyone okay?” He asks in a weary drawl, but still full of care. I nod slowly, biting back against the pain seething in my spine. He sighs a breath of relief, and I catch Mom’s softened expression before it narrows. Her line of sight moves to the mirror, the reflection of the SUVs stopped behind us. Her grip on her gun tightens. In the quiet before everything breaks, she glances toward Dad–searching his eyes, chasing his focus. When their gazes finally meet, Dad gives the smallest nod. She returns it. “$name, stay in the car.” I move my head to signal a nod, feel a shot of pain instead. Maybe I shouldn't move as much. Dad grabs his own gun before they both step out of the car, flanking its doors. Guarding it as a chorus of footsteps approach. No more running. [[Do as told.]] [[Look.]]

It’s useless. But I do it anyway, for their own peace of mind. In the dark, I feel out the latch and push it forward. A click echoes softly, and I crawl off the false car seats. Dad only told me to use these in emergencies, and well, emergencies have arrived. I lift up the seats, revealing the small, but suitable hidden compartment tailored to my body. Outside, the footsteps grow louder, muffling once I slide into the tight space. I click the false seats back into place, clasping my hands over my mouth. It should be sound proof in here, but I hardly want to take that chance. My ears pick up a particular set of steps, the pacing of a person who prowls. Then, a raspy voice cuts through the dark quiet. “Judith. Connor.” I can hear the smile in that voice, forever burned into my memory. “It’s good to see you again.” A click. “Watch it.” The voice dares to give a breathy sigh. [[“Do you know how tired I am of chasing you?”]]

My hand falls to the latch underneath the cushions. Emergencies, I think–then Dad’s voice cuts in my head. Whatever the case, I can ask for their forgiveness later. If later ever comes. I shuffle around in the backseat, my knees digging into the leather beneath as I rise just enough to see out the window. The once dark night is painted over by a blinding white, a number of silhouettes emerging. Few I recognize. Dad. His stance is wide, but there’s a noticeable shake in his hands. Mom. She’s still, immovable as stone–but for how much longer? Between them a figure–who as they approach–reveals their features. Unkempt shoulder length hair. Wrinkling skin. A show of teeth meant to be a smile. Eyes that make my skin crawl. [[Dr. Crowe.]]

My mind races trying to connect that voice to a face. A name. Anything. I bite hard, tasting a trickle of blood into my mouth. The thick, metallic taste coats my tongue, my temples drumming as everything closes in. Oh, of //course.// It could’ve been anyone under her district. High and low ranks, it didn’t matter. I’ve seen it. I’ve heard it. I’ve lived it, over and over again. And we escaped. So why was she here? Why did it have to be Dr. Crowe? “Moving across state lines, using fake names. And those burner phones.” Each point sounds like she’s bordering off a scoff. “I’ve been more than patient, yet you continue to run. It’s exhausting.” I want to scoff, feel my breath bounce back at me instead. Exhausting’s one word for it, but fitting. I’m the one who has this nightmare attached to my hip, letting it infect everyone who’s stupid enough to stick around. No, Mom and Dad aren’t stupid. They knew what they were getting into that night. Wait, does that make them stupider? Lord knows I can’t be the judge. [[Next|!]]

The tightness of the space starts to stiffen my bones, the ache in my spine flaring up. I try to readjust, only to bite back the wince that threatens to escape. Faintly, Crowe’s voice perks up. “Believe me, I admire your persistence.” She muses. “But that’s the thing with persistence. It only corrupts the brightest.” “I’m sure you know a lot about that,” Mom bites back. “But you’re chasing nothing. We don’t have $himher.” The silence drowns us again. Tree branches freeze mid-sway and the crickets have paused their song. In an odd way, there’s relief. Hope. But where I’ve known hope, I’ve known dread. Dread takes its form in Dr. Crowe's next words. “I don’t blame you.” Her voice is slow, from what I can hear. Beating in my ears and silencing everything but her. “You never understood the weight of what you did. But you took something from me, and I never forget.” [[Next|O]]

My throat tightens and I draw out a shaky breath, but before I can move, Mom speaks. “Watch it.” She warns, noticing Crowe step a bit too close for comfort. Crowe’s grin is glued in place. Her shoes crunch against the Earth, eyes trained on my Mom’s own. “You’ve made this more difficult than this needed to be. I had to pull more strings than I’d prefer, just to make tonight happen.” “You should’ve taken that as a sign to step away.” Dad retorts, eyes narrow. His glasses look like they’ll slip off any second, not that he notices. “And let you two off, scot-free? With $himher in tow?” Crowe chided, like the idea was insulting in itself. My palms begin to sweat. “I’m not the type.” “I hope you enjoyed the trip, Crowe,” Mom starts, her feet digging into the ground. “Because it was pointless. We don’t have $himher anymore.” I want to shout, hide in my hands. What were the odds Crowe would believe that? A silence looms over us, a collective agreement that we were in Crowe’s mercy. Waiting for her verdict, and our punishments. Then, slowly, Crowe shifts her gaze toward the car. Toward [[me.]]

Our eyes meet in an electric shock that freezes me from the neck down. My body turns to solid rock. Each second she looks is another I fear I’ll shatter. Through the fog my eyes cast, I can make out her silhouette. Tall and mocking. Taunting me and my nerve to stare back. Challenging me to continue. She knows. She always has–whether or not I hid. So why can’t I move when she smiles at me? After something that feels like an eternity, she looks away. Back to Mom or Dad. I throw my body onto the car cushions, cowering into myself. Whatever prayer I have, they’re all to take me away from here. From her. From what she made of me. [[From what I might become.|?]]

Every second of silence is another ache in my spine. It’s still throbbing, biting at me. Wasting every breath on wincing when I move. Pulling me back into the center of it all, Crowe continues. “I didn’t drag this circus across the country for what’s already lost. That ship sailed long ago.” She lets her words float and sink. Settle in my brain, before shattering it all. “I’ve come to make a deal.” A deal. Crowe doesn’t make deals. She takes, that was always her quota–wasn’t it? Only so much could’ve changed in a year. “A deal?” Dad echoes my confusion. “What? So you’ll drag us down with you?” Crowe forces out a laugh, though it comes off more like exasperation. “Who said anything about going down?” Crowe finishes, and makes sure she’s heard clearly. “One last job. I ask, you do it, without question. Whenever I call, for whatever I need. In the meantime, I’ll let you three play House.” The verdict was clear. Generous, maybe. Concrete, very. Dad’s voice cuts through, that once warm tone now brittle and dry. “...And if we fail?” A lingering pause is broken by two pairs of marching footsteps. “Let’s ask what $heshe <<if $pronouns_plural is true>>think<<else>>thinks<</if>>.” For a moment, I wonder if she’s referring to Mom and Dad. Just another humiliation ritual. But as the footsteps draw closer to the vehicle, my better instincts tell me the worst. [[Hide.]] [[Escape.]]

It’s like waiting for the needle to pierce before it all goes dark. I know what happens, but it’s all out of my control. My eyes are glued wide open, silent panic washing over me without warning. It takes everything in me to keep still. To not wince when the pain in my back bites. Outside, the car doors fly open, followed by faint noises. Searching dark crevices for wherever I might be. “Don’t leave any spot unchecked. That one likes hiding.” A masculine voice says, followed by a scoff from the other. “They can’t be far. I mean, you don’t actually believe those two left $himher behind, do you?” “Not at all,” The other answers, their voice masking the sound of my breathing. “Why would they do what they did if they were just going to abandon $himher in the end?” “Wouldn’t put it past them, honestly. They’re good at abandoning [[things.”]]

Hiding’s always been pointless. I won’t leave myself like that. A lamb for slaughter. I push the false seat open, the hinges squealing from the impact. Pain flares from my shoulder down to my hip, but I push myself forward anyways. My legs spill over the edge, my hands frantically pulling at the handle for my freedom. The second I step out, all chaos breaks loose. “HEY!-” One voice yells. Shoes slide against gravel. “Don’t let $himher get away!” Another voice. I think I hear someone’s safety click off. Flashlights whip in my direction, across the trees. I run anyways, the ground uneven under my shoes, my chest heaving. Every breath is a blade in my ribs. If I can just reach the tree line, I can– [[BANG!]]

The few seconds I’m given leave me little to no choices. I scurry onto the floor, searching desperately for that latch. Emergencies–Dad’s voice cuts through my thoughts. Finally, my fingers find the latch, pulling it upward and revealing the space beneath the false seats. Just big enough for me to fit in. Shoes scrap against gravel, growing louder with every second I spend fumbling. Finally, I cram myself inside, the back pressing against my aching spine as I pull the top down, plunging me into darkness. I wince under my breath, fingernails digging into the palm of my hand to distract me from the pain. Just seconds after I adjust, the car doors are swung open, my breath leaving me. There’s some shuffling in front, a few voices that don’t register in my head. Why, in this moment of dread, did my mind go to a [[textbook?]]

I can’t stay in place. That’ll just make this easier for them. Before any sense of rationale crosses my mind, my hand is on the latch, pulling it and pushing the car door. I bolt forward. Where? I don’t know, but I have the head start. If I can just– Flashlights whip in my direction, a lackey shouts. “HEY!” I force myself to move faster, my legs burning. My eyes land on the forest ahead, a "KEEP OUT" sign a blur in the corner. The grass squishes under my shoes, soaked from rainfall the night before. I feel myself sink an inch into the mud, a slick noise when I pull it back. I find the courage to look over my shoulder, catch sight of a few lackeys trailing me. Too close to slow down. I dash left, duck under branches and jump over puddles. Tucked beneath foliage and abandoned tires, it reeks. [[A sewage drain.]]

<<set $pronouns_plural to false>> <<set $prologueImage to "https://postimg.cc/N5VnVrcS">>

They’re circling the car, voices moving closer. Shoes scraping gravel. Then the trunk slams open with a metallic groan. The car rocks, and pain streaks white-hot through my spine. I clamp my teeth, but the sound that escapes me is between a gasp and a whimper. Quiet. Not quiet enough. The footsteps stop. My heart races, nearly drowns out the words. “…You hear that?” A pause. “I told you. $HeShe’s in there.” Another jostle, more violent this time. No matter how hard I bite my mouth shut, a pathetic whimper escapes me. The pain in my back starts digging its teeth into my spine. Metal clinks, a sudden pressure from above followed by a teasing voice. “Smart little rat, aren’t you? Wonder how long you thought you could last there.” The click of a latch. The false seats jerk, and a crack of dim light slices into my dark [[refuge.]]

I freeze, like an animal under a rifle. The lackey’s smile is the first thing I see as he grabs my wrist. [[“There you are.”|Converge.]] <<run window.AudioTracks.doorCreak.play()>>

<<timed "2s">> The sound pierces my ears, bleeds them open and dazes me. <</timed>> <<timed "4s">> My vision blurs, but I can faintly make it out. <</timed>> <<timed "6s">> A few feet in front of me. Nearly missing. <</timed>> <<timed "8s">> The print of a [[bullet.]] <</timed>> <<run window.AudioTracks.Bang.play()>>

My legs freeze under the realization, a high pitched sob ripped from my throat as I’m seized from the collar of my shirt. It strangles my neck as I’m yanked back, legs scrambling midair. Another hand clamps onto my arm, twisting it until I nearly drop to my knees. “Got $himher.” I thrash, try to fight out of the iron grip in vain. A smug voice breathes into my ear. “See? Told you $heshe’d run.” They drag me back towards the center of the chaos, closer to the beaming headlights of the SUVs they drove in. Shoes scuffle against the dirt, my own barely dragging. And waiting there–silhouetted against the light–is Crowe. Arms folded. [[Watching.|Converge.]]

I remember it was thick and dense. I’d classify it as a weapon under certain conditions. That textbook, the one with the animals–all trying to outsmart the other. A predator can slash and kill in one fell swoop, but they’re too loud. Too obvious. Their prey learns to disappear. Turn to a pile of leaves or blend into a tree trunk. Camouflage. It’s their only [[chance]] in a savage world.

Maybe if I’m quiet enough, I can disappear too. It almost seems like a real possibility. More so when the noises outside stop. That all cracks when the car starts to shake. It’s just a quick jostle at first–almost a test–but the ache in my spine flares into white hot pain, making me hiss through my teeth. Quietly, but not quiet enough. “…You hear that?” A pause. <<timed "3s">> “I told you. $HeShe’s in there.” The subtle jostle turns to a violent shake, trying to rip more sounds out of me. Someone’s footsteps echo from outside my cramped space, freezing me in place. “Aren’t you smart.” A masculine voice taunts. “Thought you could hide there forever.” The click of a latch. The false seats jerk, and a crack of dim light slices into my dark [[refuge.]] <</timed>>

Cautiously, I step forward. Assess the space inside. Big enough for me to crawl. Too small for them to even think of. The smell assaults my nose, but the sound of approaching footsteps is far worse than any stench. Holding my breath, I creep inside. I shift onto my hands and knees, shuffle forward until a respectable distance is put between me and the lackeys. I can hear their voices from outside, echoing faintly. “Where the hell did $heshe go?” One shouts, another grumbles something under their breath. I keep moving until I feel nauseous enough that I have to stop and try to breathe the disgusting air. It doesn’t help, but it’s better than moving anyways. [[Next|H]]

As the adrenaline drips out, it gives way to a sudden gnawing emptiness. My brain fills with noise, searching for what I lost, or left behind. Mom and dad. What are they thinking now, after seeing me run off into the woods? Do they feel betrayed that I disobeyed? Ashamed that it’s come to this? Or, worse, are they hoping I’ll escape? The conclusion I reach is nothing, but for what it’s worth, I should be safe inside of here. Maybe I would’ve been, but her voice breaks through, echoes inside the tunnel. [["Scout."]]

Welcome to <b>ESTRANGER</b>, a fan-made interactive story set between Seasons 3 and 4 of //Stranger Things//. This is a work in progress that I plan to update as frequently as I can. For the best experience, feel free to turn up the volume — or not! Totally your call. **Content Warnings: This story contains themes of abuse, psychological trauma, needles, violence, blood, manipulation, dehumanization, PTSD, and similar sensitive material. Please take care of yourself. Don’t feel pressured to continue if anything feels overwhelming. Otherwise, you may [[begin|Untitled Passage]]. <<run UIBar.stow(true);>>

My body locks up. That word does worse damage than any physical punishment could. “Scout.” The echo rips me away, slices my skin like a razor. And suddenly, she’s in the center of my world. [[My judge, jury, and executioner.]]

<<timed "2s">>Rooms of white. The sounds of machinery. I know I’m not <<link "there.">> <<replace "#reaction">> <p style="margin-top: 0;">My heart skips, then stops–before pounding ferociously. Begging for release. I know I'm not <<link "there.">> <<replace "#reaction">> <p style="margin-top: 0;">The needles puncture my bruised skin. They’re running out of places to pierce. My ribs scream beneath the restraints. My skin is cold and slick. Nausea laces every breath. I know I'm not <<link "there.">> <<replace "#reaction">> <p style="margin-top: 0;">Yet it doesn’t matter. Wherever I am–whoever I am–I respond to her. “Scout.” And like a lapdog to its master, I obey. I thought maybe since I was returning peacefully, they might be gentle. But that was before I was a runaway. [[Next|Converge.]]</p> <</replace>> <</link>> <div id="reaction"></div></p> <</replace>> <</link>> <div id="reaction"></div></p> <</replace>> <</link>> <div id="reaction"></div> <</timed>>

"Stay in the car." What difference did it make in the end? If I stayed, if I left. If I was captured, if I escaped. No matter what, I am hers. That much is evident by the way she tugs me back to where she wants me. Blunt nails digging into my wrist, the one with my mark inked on, reading: SC-01. Crowe’s steps are swift and smooth, too much for me to match. Anytime I try, my spine flares with pain. She notices, [[then moves faster.]]

Mom and Dad flicker in the corner of my eye. Up until now, Dad’s been struggling to properly hold his gun. It was never his forte. I wonder if that was all nerves–he doesn’t look half as inexperienced now that it’s pointed to Crowe. Beside him, the barrel of Mom’s gun points to the ground, her grip tightening enough that skin might break. In the center, Crowe stops, hanging my swollen wrist above my head. Like she’s showing off her favorite doll. I raise my head, and our eyes finally meet. Even after a year apart, I can never forget them. Those endless swirls of black, reflecting my image that I can’t help but loathe. [[Next|L]]

This script plays endlessly in my head. I catch myself repeating it everyday, even when I fight not to. It leaves me like a breath, lingers in my mind like a song. “Scout,” She begins, swiftly. “I think my friends forgot what happens when we fail our missions. Can you remind them, please?” My gaze pulls to Mom and Dad, before quickly retracting. “You get punished.” Crowe nods, voice beaming. “We don’t want that to happen, do we?” No falling curtains to save me. I shake my head. “No, Ma’am.” I wait for the confirmation. The next scene in our script. That was my mistake—thinking I could predict how Crowe likes to play. “You don’t?” She asks, forcefully turning my head to Mom and Dad. Their expressions are indecipherable, scrunched and tense. Crowe continues, that smile playing in her voice. “They’ve done an awful lot of things, Dear. Bad things.” I feel my fist clench, hardly notice under her next words. “But you know that, [[don’t you?”]]

Then, her bruising hold on me is released, followed by her hand barely brushing my hair, yet I still feel the bundle of shame that flusters at her touch. Her fingers stay put in my hair for a while, feeling it’s frizzy texture. “I liked it shorter.” She hums, then retracts her hand. When she does, my throat feels sore. My gaze gives into the pull, turning to Mom and Dad. They’ve never looked more livid. I imagine the only thing keeping them from shooting is the twenty other guns trained on them. Crowe knows this as well as I do. Maybe that’s why there’s no hesitation when she walks towards them, a whisper on her lips. Cold and cutting. “Enjoy Lenora.” Then, right past them. We watched frozen as she and her lackeys drove into the nothing of night. A deal made. A storm that could brew at a moment’s notice. [[Like always, we were at her mercy.]]

Dad’s arms encircle me, his gun somewhere on the floor. He holds me tight, and there’s a moment I wonder if he’d let go if he didn’t have to. Mom stands behind, her hand in my hair–but her mind is somewhere else. Her eyes are distant, almost like she’s searching for something. Dad’s hand finds her shoulder, pulling her out of that trance. They share a look before Dad turns back to me. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you anywhere?” I shake my head. Dad sighs heavily, his glasses tipping forward slightly. “Thank God.” Slowly, a bit dead, we entered our beat up car. By some grace, it worked–barely. With it, we made our way into the small town of Lenora Hills. Since then, we’ve made whatever we can of a home there. Mom and Dad never told me, but I think it was unspoken knowledge that Dad didn’t really happen upon a house in need of repairs out of pure luck. Just another cover up, like the school nearby or the friendly neighbors. Whatever the case, it’s our life now. But sometimes, when it’s late and every light is shut off, I can feel Crowe’s eyes stare back at me in the dark. Pools of black that threaten to choke me. It’s like she never really left. [[END OF PROLOGUE]]

Thank you for reading the prologue! In due time, there will be more to come.